Only a Moment
by kassinova
Summary: It takes only a moment for someone's life to turn completely upside-down in the very worst of ways. Unfortunately for Keith, that moment came far, far sooner than he had planned. Note: - This fic goes hand-in-hand with a separate fic that I've uploaded ("Another Bonding Moment") - Also, this fic DOES have some strong language (beware!) - This IS a klance fic, so keep that in mind!
1. Chapter 1

It takes only a moment to fall completely and irreversibly in love with someone.

For Lance Charles Julio Esteban McClain, that moment was right here, right now, as Keith Kogane rushed ino the heat of battle, bayard blazing with the ominous purple light of the emanating from the walls of the Galran ship in which they had been cornered.

It was _that_ moment, as the Texan's voice rose brazenly into a harsh, chill-inducing battle cry that pierced the depths of Lance's secret heart straight through the core.

It was _that_ moment, as Lance suddenly realized that the two remaining Paladins were now completely surrounded, that Pidge and Hunk and Allura were far out of the danger zone and were probably safely in their Lions.

It was _that_ moment, when they had had a choice: they could try to fight their way out of their predicament and take as many Galran soldiers to hell with them as possible, or they could die unceremoniously knowing that there had been a _chance_ —a _chance_ that they could have made it out alive, a _chance_ that they could have survived and defeated Zarkon and his son for good, a _chance_ to save an entire _universe_ full of innocent people who counted on them as their saviors, as their knights in shining armor—knowing that there had been a _chance,_ and they hadn't even _tried_ to take it.

Lance had realized that.

Lance had panicked.

Who would pilot their Lions after they were gone? How would Hunk and Pidge and Allura form Voltron with only three Paladins? Who would lead the team if Keith died? Who would replace them if they really _didn't_ make it out of this alive?

Keith had clapped him hard on the shoulders with both of his hands and had shaken Lance until he had calmed down and gained his senses back.

"We are _not_ going to die!" Keith had snapped at him, grabbing the front of the Cuban's shirt and jerking his face close to his. Lance could clearly see the fires that burned deep within his leader's charcoal-grey eyes; the mere intensity of their heat alone almost made him shiver. "We're gonna fight our way out of this, and I swear to _God_ , if you die then I'll bring you back to life and kill you again myself!"

And then he had turned and summoned his bayard. Lance could see the blade glint menacingly in the pulsing orchid light, and he shuddered visibly. He would've hated to be on the opposite end of that blade. It was a good thing he wasn't.

Yet, anyway.

"Keith, wait—!"

"There _is_ no wait!" Keith had growled in response. "If we wait, then we die! Now, _cover me!"_

He had spun Lance around on his heels to where they were back to back and started slicing away at the armada of Galra soldiers advancing at them at full speed. "Hunk! Pidge! Allura! We need backup, and _stat!"_ he howled into his radio, bringing the hilt of his blade down hard on a Galra soldier's head with a gut-wrenching _crack_. Lance could see the blood-spatter on his companion's hand where the force had split the soldier's head wide open. He now lay bleeding on the floor, jerking mightily with what Lance decided must have been some kind of seizure. "We're in trouble here! _Move_ it!"

It had taken Lance only a moment to whip out his own Bayard and start blasting away their enemies one-by-one with precision speed, never missing a single shot and never hesitating to aim for more than half a second.

And that's where he stood now, after only five minutes that had seemed as if it had turned into an eternity, still fighting back-to-back with

[the man he loved]

his leader, still outnumbered and still taking down countless numbers of the threatening horde around them. Lance could taste salt of the sweat that dripped from his brow, could feel his abdomen start to ache dully with each direction he twisted to fire off another shot from his bayard, could hear Keith grunt with every blow he delivered to his foes, could feel the wind off of each swing of his blade and smell the stench of adrenaline-fueled pheromones from himself and the horde around him. Just as Lance pivoted to the left to take down a medium-statured Galra brute, he caught a sentry near the back place a finger on the trigger—with the barrel pointed directly at his comrade's chest.

A million different thoughts raced into Lance's mind in that second.

 _It's aimed at Keith._

 _It's aimed at Keith!_

 _I gotta help Keith, I can't let anything happen to Keith—_

 _It'll kill him, what do I do?_

 _What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?!_

 _What in the actual_ _fuck_ _am I supposed to do?!_

" _Keith!"_ Lance screamed above the chaos, motioning wildly with his free hand, " _Get down!"_

 _"What?!_ " his companion screamed back, momentarily losing momentum with his blade and breaking his focus.

But it was too late. The sentry fired

 _—save Keith I gotta save Keith I love Keith if he dies then I'll—_

and Lance shoved his leader to the floor and leapt readily in front of the gunfire. He felt the shot connect with his gut with a sickening _splat_ and felt a white-hot pain in his lower abdomen. The world seemed to freeze in place; the advancing army ceased its attack, the sentry that had fired the shot failed to load another in its gun, Keith's blade stopped mid-decapitation, a menacing snarl painted across the Black Paladin's features.

A moment later, Lance's body tumbled to the ground.

"Lance! _Lance!_ _Damn_ _it!"_ he heard Keith screech in shock.

The world was fading in and out quickly, spinning in circles and somersaulting this way and that. He felt his stomach lurch as Keith grabbed his wrists and dragged him behind shelter. Lance choked on a bit of bile that bubbled up his throat and spat it on the ground as he was lifted up and leaned against Keith's thighs.

It was crimson-red, he didn't fail to notice.

Blood.

Lance tried to laugh, but he grimaced as the pain stabbed through him again unexpectedly, causing the laughter to stick in his throat and turn into another agonizing retch instead. He tried to keep his eyes open, but found himself failing miserably; each time his eyes blinked shut, he was met with different memory that he could have _sworn_ he had forgotten since he had left Earth….

Kissing Evangelina Perez on the playground in third grade and having to write "I will not kiss a girl on the playground again" fifty times on the chalkboard (which, by the way, he _did_ kiss a girl on that playground again, and would continue to do so until he was moved to the middle school).

Playing football with his brothers and sisters at family picnics and growing increasingly furious when Sophia would kick the ball into the _wrong goal_ but there was _nothing_ he could do about it because _she was just a little girl_ , Mama said, she was too young to know better, Mama said, _she was just a_ _baby_ _, Lance Charles_ , Mama said.

Signing up to be a cadet in the space program because Mickey told him he'd be worth it, told him he'd be a great astronaut, told him that there wasn't anything left for him on that little bitty island back in Cuba, told him that if he _really_ wanted to make a name out of the McClain family, then he'd _break the mold_ and just _do it_ because Lance was just _too smart_ to work at a family-owned grocery store for the rest of his life—no, Lance deserved _more._

Only, ironically, Lance had gotten so, _so_ much more than he had bargained for.

"Lance… Lance, oh _crap, Lance, son-of-a-fuckin'-BITCH—"_ Keith swore as he began applying pressure to the wound in the Paladin's abdomen. "Frick, Lance, sweet Jesus. Stay with me. Come on, say something. _Come on…!"_

What was that?

Oh. It was Keith.

Lance chuckled again deliriously as he noticed the little bit of Texan drawl edging its way into that voice, as it so often did when he was tired or angry or on-edge. He had almost forgotten that Keith was even there.

 _Oh, Keith_.

That invoked an _entirely_ new set of memories in Lance's increasingly-sporadic brain.

God, Lance hated Keith.

Used to hate him so _bad,_ used to _loathe_ him, _despise_ him. They were _arch-nemeses._

He _hated_ how he _always_ seemed to surpass him in _everything_ —at the Garrison, in the space sims, even in the Voltron team. He was even the _leader_ now, the pilot of none other than the Black Lion itself. Even his _race_ seemed to one-up Lance— _oh, you're Cuban? Cool. I'm a Galra. Beat that._

But, then, he seemed to remember….

…telling Keith he'd give up his Lion for the sake of Voltron if Shiro could ever pilot the Black Lion again and Keith wanted Little Red back

( _"Leave the math to Pidge")_

…stargazing underneath the colorful, innate galaxies with him after a long, sleepless night, when his chronic nightmares got the better of him and his head was filled with toxic loneliness

( _"I don't think your family would ever,_ _ever_ _give up searching for you")_

…or just sitting with him in complete silence, drinking coffee and enjoying each-other's presence. _Relying_ on him, when things got too dark to handle, when Lance couldn't breathe because of the crushing weight of his homesickness, because of the crushing weight of _everything—_

 _And realizing that, when Keith was by his side, he didn't feel as homesick._

When Keith was by his side…

 _…he was closer to home than he had been since he had first left._

And now, here he was, bent over Lance's broken body, gazing down at the Red Paladin in horror, watching the lights fade in and out of his ocean-blue eyes and praying for a shred of hope, for _anything_ , that would keep Lance breathing long enough for Pidge and Shiro and Allura to arrive and save the day, long enough for a savior to come and deliver them from the hell that beckoned them so temptingly, so sweetly.

"Lance, _please,_ just hang on—oh, _shit,_ Lance—"

Lance coughed again and hacked up another clot of blood into his palm and stared at it in wonder before slinging it on the ground weakly. "You're… You're hard to keep up with, you know that?" he heaved, a flicker of a grin coming to the corners of his lips. He reached a trembling hand up and pressed his blood-soaked palm to Keith's cheek. "You're… You're too much for me. You always have been." He managed to chuckle again faintly. "You always… have been… aha-ha..."

Keith's slate-grey eyes widened in horror. His mouth opened and closed silently, mortified by what he was seeing. He wanted to say something. Anything. _Anything at all_. But his bottom lip was quivering so much that he was afraid to make a sound, afraid his voice might crack in two, afraid that he would _lose his god-damned mind_.

Lance's eyelids flickered open and shut as he gasped for breath. He was slipping out of consciousness at an alarming rate.

"Lance," Keith began, slapping his palm against the Paladin's face gently. " _Lance_ , stay with me. Talk to me. _Tell me something…!_ _Please…!_ "

Lance laughed again, ignoring the pain that flared violently as he did so. He had a feeling that the pain wasn't going to last too much longer, anyway.

It was funny. All Lance ever wanted was to punch the crap out of the Texan above him, to let him know just how much he abhorred him.

But now, in this moment, all he wanted was to gaze at the dark-grey pools of his eyes and daydream, just one final time.

He wanted to imagine what it would've been like to wake up and see those eyes blinking open drowsily next to him, just one final time.

He wanted to imagine to expression he would've seen in those eyes if he would've just kissed him that night under the stars, instead of ignoring how loudly his heart was beating when Keith's hand came too close to his own, just one final time.

He wanted to see them blaze with joy and crinkle up at the edges when he laughed at one of Lance's lame jokes, just one final time.

Just one final time.

For only a moment.

A deep panic set itself within Keith Kogane's stomach as he caught the defeated, concluding expression in his partner's ocean-blue eyes.

He was giving up, Keith realized.

Lance was _giving up_.

No. No, no, no, no, _no, no,_ _no_.

Keith couldn't let that happen.

 _He_ _**wouldn't**_ _._

As if sensing his defiance, Lance's hand slipped from Keith's dirtied, blood-streaked face and back over the increasingly-incapacitating wound in his abdomen, his eyes squeezing shut and his eyebrows drawn together in unendurable torment. Keith bellowed out his name again, shaking Lance's shoulders and digging his fingernails deeper into the black spandex suit beneath his Paladin armor.

It takes only a moment to fall completely in love with somebody.

But, for Lance McClain, that moment had passed long ago.

It takes only a moment to give your life for somebody.

 _For Lance McClain, that moment was now_.

…

Pidge, Hunk and Allura rounded the corner on a trail of fire, their bayards out and at-the-ready, prepared for action.

But when they saw the scene before them, Pidge gasped in terror.

There was a single Galra, in white and red Paladin armor, knelt over a coffee-haired, blood-stained body. Keith Kogane's Paladin helmet lay on the ground nearby.

It looked like the scene of a massacre. Dozens upon dozens of Galra soldiers lie dead on the ground, the broken remains of the robotic sentries underneath. There was the heavy, repugnant odor of iron in the air; it made Hunk's stomach churn and caused him to clap his hand over his mouth. The silence of the room was deafening, save the heavy breathing coming from the figure before them. The only living organism they could see in the vicinity was crouched right in front of them, in their leader's Paladin armor, with the Black Paladin's bayard and helmet scattered behind him.

"What are you doing there?!" Allura shouted in indignation at the figure, raising her bayard maliciously in preparation to strike. Pidge noticed that her voice sounded weak and on the verge of tears. "Where is Keith?!"

"No, Allura, _wait!"_ Pidge said, catching Allura's wrist and lowering the weapon she so vengefully. "I think that _is_ Keith!"

"Nonsense, why would Keith be…."

Her voice trailed off as the unknown figure turned to face them, slowly standing upright on a pair of trembling legs.

Tears were pouring down the oddly-familiar face. There was a crimson palm-print on his left cheek right below eyes, like someone had pressed their bloody hand against his cheekbone. "Pidge, Hunk… Allura, I… I…."

Hunk's eyes widened in shock. "Keith….? Is that _you_ …?"

The familiar face before them crumpled in anguish as Galra-Keith dropped to his knees. "They got Lance," he choked, his voice thick and raw with emotion. The very sound of it made Pidge's heart shatter into a trillion tiny pieces. "They hurt him. They hurt him bad. I wasn't paying attention and he… _He….!_ "

"Is Lance okay?! Keith, _listen to me! Is he okay?!"_

Keith hit the ground face-first, his fingers seizing fistfuls of ebony-black hair on his head in agony as his entire body shook with sobs. He let out a long, heart-wrenching wail that made all three of the Voltron Paladins before him tremble with sorrow before he was finally able to speak again.

" _He's not breathing, Hunk!_ _He's dying!_

 _ **Lance is dying!**_ _"_


	2. Chapter 2

I could hear Lance's deep, labored breathing through the thick glass of the healing pod. His eyelids fluttered ever-so-slightly in his stasis, his fists clenching and unclenching as his dreams bid him.

The stranger's reflection in the glass stared gloomily back at me, the unfamiliar yellow eyes glittering and hard in the dim light of the corridor. His chin was rested on his arms. The clawed fingers wrapped around the figure's knees mirrored my own perfectly. The ears twitched with each breath I heard Lance take, with each unexpected noise I heard in the vicinity of Lance's healing pod.

The reflection was my own. The stranger—the Galra—was me. The purple skin, the fuzzy ears, the sharp claws and piercing yellow eyes were mine. I glared at myself in self-pitying hatred. It was my fault that this had happened. It was my fault that Lance was hurt, that I lost control of myself and allowed my Galra side to take over what little humanity I had left, that Allura had (inadvertently) turned against me and was now (once again) shunning my very existence. It was all my fault, and every second that ticked by while Lance was in that pod and while my monster of a reflection stared back at me was a grim, agonizing reminder of that fact.

It had been a little over six hours since we had put Lance in the healing pod. Allura and Coran had hurried off to restore some of the castle's defenses that had been damaged after the firefight not long after we had made sure Lance would be okay. Hunk had gone to make dinner about an hour later and had brought Pidge and me plates. Pidge had scarfed hers down and gone to tinker with her laptop about an hour after that. My plate still remained cold and untouched beside me. I couldn't have made myself eat it—even if I had wanted to.

It was the sound of light, distinct footsteps down the corridor that made my reflection's ear twitch. I didn't have to look away from the pod to know to whom the footsteps belonged.

Pidge sat down beside me and crossed her legs as she silently laid a skinny arm around my shoulders.

Full minutes of comfortable silence passed between us.

Finally, she opened her mouth and spoke.

"Keith, it wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault."

I grunted. "Don't start with me," I began, "because it's a load of bull and you know it. You aren't one to spout bull."

"You're right, I'm not. If anyone on this team is one to tell you straight, then it's me. Pidge doesn't spout bull. And I'm definitely not spouting it now."

"I watched that bullet blast through his chest. Because he was protecting me. Because he _saved me._ I held him in my arms as his blood seeped over my hands and into my lap. I watched him cough and spit blood on the floor as he struggled to speak to me, to stay awake. They hurt him. And he almost died. We almost lost him. And it was because I was too damn hasty to wait and think about what I was doing. _I'm_ the leader of Voltron, Pidge. It _is_ my fault, and you know it. They hurt him. _Bad_."

"And you slaughtered every single one of them," she replied quietly, calmly. "You killed them all. For _him_."

"He almost died for me. He _still_ might die for me, Pidge. _He still might die_. And it'd be all my fault." I buried my face in my arms once more, my clenched fists shaking slightly. The claws at the end of my fingertips pierced the flesh of my palms, nearly drawing blood. "I wish Shiro were here. He'd have known what to do. He could've calmed me down enough to think things through."

 _Patience yields focus._ If only I would have had the patience.

"No, it isn't your fault. Lance would've done it for you in a heartbeat, anyway."

"That's why I hate myself so much for it," I snapped, raising my head again to look her in the eyes, "because I know he would've thrown himself in front of that bullet for me. I know that he'd die for me. And I hate him for it."

Pidge raised an eyebrow, perplexed by this. "Annnnd, that's a valid reason because…?"

" _I_ should be the one in that healing pod," I spat, disgusted at myself. "I should be the one that's hurt. I hate it. I _hate_ the way he's always doing crap like this."

"Crap like…?"

"Reckless crap. Dumb crap. _Selfless_ crap. I hate it. I hate him." I could feel the rage building inside of me, lighting up like a match that burned my gut and made me want to scream. "I hate his stupid freaking jokes and his dumb freaking laugh. I hate how shallow he always acts even though he's not shallow at all, even though he's hurting. I hate how he never wants anyone else to know he's in pain. I hate that he never comes to anyone when he needs it. I hate how he bottles himself up all the time, and I hate that I've never been brave enough to be the one that he opens himself up to. I hate the sadness in his eyes. I hate how he hides it underneath his goofiness. I hate those freaking gorgeous blue eyes. I hate how they glitter when they look at me, like they know something that I don't."

I could feel Pidge's shock, her wide eyes blazing into my skull. I couldn't help it. Everything was gushing out of me without my permission.

I was close to breaking.

Pidge knew it.

 _I_ knew it.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"I hate the way he does that stupid, goofy smile all the time. I hate the way his mouth twists up at the corners when he says my name. I hate how he always seems to get closer to me when he talks to me and how his hand always inches towards mine but then hesitates and I hate how he runs his hands through his dumb, stupid freaking hair when he gets nervous or when he thinks he's being cool. I hate his smile. I hate his eyes. I hate his skin. I hate his voice. I _hate_ _him,_ dammit." My voice was choked with tears. My eyes burned hot. I squeezed them shut to keep from crying. I wanted to stab myself in the thigh. How _dare_ I show my weakness. I hated myself almost as much as I wanted to hate Lance.

"I _hate_ that I want to get close to him. I _hate_ that he makes me feel like I'm melting, and I _hate_ how I can't breathe when he gets too close to me. I _hate_ that I want to pull his body close to mine and kiss him so hard that he forgets about everything else in the universe but me. I _hate_ that I want to sleep next to him at night and wake up in the morning with his head on my chest. I _hate_ that I want to see his face asleep on my pillow. I _hate_ that I want to know his taste, his touch, his _scent_ like the back of my hand. I _hate_ that I want to be with him, that I want to go out and watch the stars with him and grow old with him. I _hate_ that I want him, Pidge. I _hate_ it. I hate _him_. And the worst part is, I hate that I don't hate him at all. _Not one freaking bit, Pidgeon_." I looked up at her again. Her bright hazel eyes gazed sadly into mine, her mouth slightly agape and pulled into a small frown. I hadn't realized how quiet my voice had gotten until I noticed that there wasn't really a difference between my talking and the silence of the infirmary room.

"I don't hate him at all," I repeated, drawing in a shaky breath. "Not one freaking bit."

"You're in love with him," she murmured, her eyes widening some more at this enlightenment. "Keith, you're in love with him…!"

I swore loudly and buried my face in my arms again. "Of course, I freaking do. Of course. I love him and I almost killed him. What in the ever-living _quiznak_ am I gonna do if he doesn't pull through this? What if he dies? What _then_ , Pidge? What am I gonna do?!"

"He's not going to die, Keith," she reassured me gently. "Lance is a fighter. He'll be fine."

"Yeah? Well, what about if he wakes up? When he sees me like…? Like… like _this?!"_ I gestured to myself in repulsion. "He'd never want me like this. Not _ever_."

"It'll go away, Keith. But you've gotta calm down, okay? Calm down." She took one of my hands and squeezed it as hard as she could. "That's _enough._ Look at me. Lance is okay. Allura said he'd be out of the pod in less than a day."

"It's still my fault. I never wanted this. I never wanted to fall for him. I didn't ask for this."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow raised again, a bit of her normal, no-nonsense self shining through again. "Have you ever heard of anyone who's _asked_ to fall hard enough for someone that they'd cry outside their healing pod for hours on end waiting for him to come out?"

I stared at her in silence, a tear spilling out of my eye almost as if on cue. I wiped it away angrily, frustrated at myself for letting myself show how upset I was. At least it was just Pidge. She was the closest thing to a sister that I would ever have. I could trust her.

I hoped, anyway.

"That's what I thought," she said. "Now, I'm not sure what I can say to make you feel better, because this whole 'romance' thing is waaaay out of my expertise. But honestly, you idiot, do you think Lance would want you to worry yourself sick over him? Get a hold of yourself."

"B-but… I-I…."

"But you what? I'm serious, Keith. Lance wouldn't want you to hate yourself over this. He didn't have to take that bullet for you, but he did, because Lance is Lance and he'd take a bullet for any of us before he sees us suffer. If you'd have been the one to get shot, then Lance would be the one sitting in front of _your_ healing pod and crying to me. So, man up. You need to quit moping around. If Lance were able to see you like this, he'd probably be making fun of you for being emo."

I stifled a surprised chuckle. She wasn't wrong.

"You're nineteen-freaking-years old. You're past your emo phase. Quit acting like you're still in it, because you're not."

This time, I laughed aloud. "Okay, that's insulting. I'll always be a little bit emo. It's one of those things that stick around until your old and wrinkly, and so when you're ninety-eight years old and you hear the G-note on a piano you'll start kicking in windows and screaming 'Welcome to the Black Parade' at the top of your lungs."

She smiled, delighted by my response. "See? You're feeling better already." She stood to her feet and nodded toward the glass. "You look better already too."

I blinked and whipped my head around to face my reflection.

Sure enough, the purple tint in my skin had faded back to its normal pale human color, and the tail had disappeared. My ears had shrunk significantly. My eyes were still yellow, but there was a little more of a human glimmer in them than there was before. I guess that finally admitting the inner turmoil I called my 'feelings' helped out a lot. I certainly did feel a little better than before. Maybe a pity-party was all that I really needed.

Not that it erased any of the guilt I felt about Lance, of course. That would still haunt me. But, at least I was feeling okay.

For the moment, anyway.

I grinned, revealing two large, pearly-white canine teeth, and turned back to Pidge. "Yeah. You're right. I do look a little better, don't I?"

"Mm-hmm. Now come on, it's late. You need to get some rest."

My grin faded as I glanced back at Lance, still paralyzed in his stasis, his lips forming quiet words and his brow furrowing in his sleep. The chocolate-colored hair on his forehead was damp with sweat; I could see it beading on his brow.

What I wouldn't have given to reach out and wipe it off just then, to feel the heat of his skin beneath my fingertips, to remind myself that he was still really _here,_ and not just a figment of my delusional imagination.

She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, glaring at me. "God, if I didn't think of you as a brother, then I'd sock you in the jaw. Would you feel better if I brought you a pillow and a blanket so you could finally sleep beside him like you told me that you wanted to earlier?"

I scowled at her. She was using a teasing tone, but I knew Pidge well enough to understand that she was being dead serious. "You mean, if you weren't two feet tall, then you'd sock me in the jaw. You can't punch what you can't reach. And, yes, yes I would."

She flipped me the bird, but laughed at my remark. "Yeah. Okay. Give me a minute, I'll go get some stuff for you. Are you hungry?"

I opened my mouth to tell her no, I wasn't hungry—and then my stomach growled so loudly that it echoed down the corridor. I shot her a sheepish grin as she eyed the untouched plate of foot by my foot and glared at me.

"Fine. I'll bring you food, too. God, you dumb men, never taking care of yourselves—"

"Oh, uh… Pidge?"

She had begun to turn around, but she stopped when she heard her name. "Yeah?"

"You… You aren't going to tell anyone about… About what I told you… Are you?"

She smiled again and shook her head. "Wouldn't dream of it, pal."

She turned away again and made to walk away.

"Katie," I blurted. "Katie, wait."

She froze again, and looked over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"…Thank you. For this. For everything."

She shot me another grin and waved her hand nonchalantly at me. "Anytime, bro."

I watched her disappear down the hall before going back to sit cross-legged beside Lance's pod, laying my head against the glass and closing my eyes as I listened to his breathing.

I was out cold before she had even made it back with a blanket.


End file.
